Nouveauté
Into the Wild of You: A Queer Tantric Odyssey of Love, Scent, and Sacred Surrender
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- FormatePub
- ISBN8232132712
- EAN9798232132712
- Date de parution10/10/2025
- Protection num.pas de protection
- Infos supplémentairesepub
- ÉditeurHamza elmir
Résumé
Into the Wild of You is a fearless, tender, and life-honest memoir about a man who has spent a lifetime trying to smell like heaven-and finally chooses to smell like himself. Thaddeus Bloom is raised in a house where bleach means control and powder means innocence; where hugs are scheduled and need is quietly punished. He learns to hold his breath, to tuck in every shirt and every emotion, to make spreadsheets of his longings so the body won't betray him.
But the body remembers-locker rooms, almost-touches in a choir-room closet, sterile hotel "maintenance" that leaves him emptier than before. Exhausted by performance, sleepless for years, he meets a therapist who names what he's been too elegant to admit: "Your nervous system is screaming." The invitation that follows is unthinkable and irresistible-a men's wilderness immersion with no mirrors, no clocks, no phone.
and no deodorant. Just breath, dirt, scent, sleep, sweat, and brotherhood. Across ten days that feel like ten lifetimes, Thaddeus walks off the polished stage of his life and into a circle of men who refuse to "sanitize" their humanity. He meets River, whose armpits "smell like God, " whose seeing is unsparing and kind. He learns rituals of presence-anointing with scent, the ceremony of feet, the shared heartbeat-and discovers that Tantra begins with the exhale.
Shame loosens its grip as touch becomes sacrament and breath becomes prayer. He cries while erect and doesn't apologize. He fasts from mirrors but feasts on being seen. When the feral dance breaks, he realizes he never wanted to "come"-he wanted to stay. This odyssey is as sensual as it is spiritual, as exacting as it is ecstatic. The prose moves from the antiseptic brightness of department-store lighting to the low gold of firelight; from the quiet cruelty of "compose yourself" to the mercy of "let yourself be unguarded." Scenes of early conditioning ("Don't let them see you sweat"), the calculation of safety (columns for Body, Mind, Soul), and the last sleepless years set the stakes with surgical clarity.
In the wild, those structures meet earth: dirt under nails, salt on lips, the animal rising without apology. The book never confuses shock for depth; it honors the slow, cellular miracle of coming home to one's body. Into the Wild of You is a love story-of men, of scent, of the un-performed self. It's for anyone who was taught to be spotless instead of whole, anyone who traded aliveness for approval, anyone who has ever sanitized touch until it was empty.
Read it if you've outgrown self-improvement and are ready for self-return. Read it if you've forgotten what you smell like. Above all, read it if the word surrender scares you the way truth does, because on the far side of surrender is not collapse but coherence: the stag inside you stepping forward, antlers bright, unafraid.
But the body remembers-locker rooms, almost-touches in a choir-room closet, sterile hotel "maintenance" that leaves him emptier than before. Exhausted by performance, sleepless for years, he meets a therapist who names what he's been too elegant to admit: "Your nervous system is screaming." The invitation that follows is unthinkable and irresistible-a men's wilderness immersion with no mirrors, no clocks, no phone.
and no deodorant. Just breath, dirt, scent, sleep, sweat, and brotherhood. Across ten days that feel like ten lifetimes, Thaddeus walks off the polished stage of his life and into a circle of men who refuse to "sanitize" their humanity. He meets River, whose armpits "smell like God, " whose seeing is unsparing and kind. He learns rituals of presence-anointing with scent, the ceremony of feet, the shared heartbeat-and discovers that Tantra begins with the exhale.
Shame loosens its grip as touch becomes sacrament and breath becomes prayer. He cries while erect and doesn't apologize. He fasts from mirrors but feasts on being seen. When the feral dance breaks, he realizes he never wanted to "come"-he wanted to stay. This odyssey is as sensual as it is spiritual, as exacting as it is ecstatic. The prose moves from the antiseptic brightness of department-store lighting to the low gold of firelight; from the quiet cruelty of "compose yourself" to the mercy of "let yourself be unguarded." Scenes of early conditioning ("Don't let them see you sweat"), the calculation of safety (columns for Body, Mind, Soul), and the last sleepless years set the stakes with surgical clarity.
In the wild, those structures meet earth: dirt under nails, salt on lips, the animal rising without apology. The book never confuses shock for depth; it honors the slow, cellular miracle of coming home to one's body. Into the Wild of You is a love story-of men, of scent, of the un-performed self. It's for anyone who was taught to be spotless instead of whole, anyone who traded aliveness for approval, anyone who has ever sanitized touch until it was empty.
Read it if you've outgrown self-improvement and are ready for self-return. Read it if you've forgotten what you smell like. Above all, read it if the word surrender scares you the way truth does, because on the far side of surrender is not collapse but coherence: the stag inside you stepping forward, antlers bright, unafraid.
Into the Wild of You is a fearless, tender, and life-honest memoir about a man who has spent a lifetime trying to smell like heaven-and finally chooses to smell like himself. Thaddeus Bloom is raised in a house where bleach means control and powder means innocence; where hugs are scheduled and need is quietly punished. He learns to hold his breath, to tuck in every shirt and every emotion, to make spreadsheets of his longings so the body won't betray him.
But the body remembers-locker rooms, almost-touches in a choir-room closet, sterile hotel "maintenance" that leaves him emptier than before. Exhausted by performance, sleepless for years, he meets a therapist who names what he's been too elegant to admit: "Your nervous system is screaming." The invitation that follows is unthinkable and irresistible-a men's wilderness immersion with no mirrors, no clocks, no phone.
and no deodorant. Just breath, dirt, scent, sleep, sweat, and brotherhood. Across ten days that feel like ten lifetimes, Thaddeus walks off the polished stage of his life and into a circle of men who refuse to "sanitize" their humanity. He meets River, whose armpits "smell like God, " whose seeing is unsparing and kind. He learns rituals of presence-anointing with scent, the ceremony of feet, the shared heartbeat-and discovers that Tantra begins with the exhale.
Shame loosens its grip as touch becomes sacrament and breath becomes prayer. He cries while erect and doesn't apologize. He fasts from mirrors but feasts on being seen. When the feral dance breaks, he realizes he never wanted to "come"-he wanted to stay. This odyssey is as sensual as it is spiritual, as exacting as it is ecstatic. The prose moves from the antiseptic brightness of department-store lighting to the low gold of firelight; from the quiet cruelty of "compose yourself" to the mercy of "let yourself be unguarded." Scenes of early conditioning ("Don't let them see you sweat"), the calculation of safety (columns for Body, Mind, Soul), and the last sleepless years set the stakes with surgical clarity.
In the wild, those structures meet earth: dirt under nails, salt on lips, the animal rising without apology. The book never confuses shock for depth; it honors the slow, cellular miracle of coming home to one's body. Into the Wild of You is a love story-of men, of scent, of the un-performed self. It's for anyone who was taught to be spotless instead of whole, anyone who traded aliveness for approval, anyone who has ever sanitized touch until it was empty.
Read it if you've outgrown self-improvement and are ready for self-return. Read it if you've forgotten what you smell like. Above all, read it if the word surrender scares you the way truth does, because on the far side of surrender is not collapse but coherence: the stag inside you stepping forward, antlers bright, unafraid.
But the body remembers-locker rooms, almost-touches in a choir-room closet, sterile hotel "maintenance" that leaves him emptier than before. Exhausted by performance, sleepless for years, he meets a therapist who names what he's been too elegant to admit: "Your nervous system is screaming." The invitation that follows is unthinkable and irresistible-a men's wilderness immersion with no mirrors, no clocks, no phone.
and no deodorant. Just breath, dirt, scent, sleep, sweat, and brotherhood. Across ten days that feel like ten lifetimes, Thaddeus walks off the polished stage of his life and into a circle of men who refuse to "sanitize" their humanity. He meets River, whose armpits "smell like God, " whose seeing is unsparing and kind. He learns rituals of presence-anointing with scent, the ceremony of feet, the shared heartbeat-and discovers that Tantra begins with the exhale.
Shame loosens its grip as touch becomes sacrament and breath becomes prayer. He cries while erect and doesn't apologize. He fasts from mirrors but feasts on being seen. When the feral dance breaks, he realizes he never wanted to "come"-he wanted to stay. This odyssey is as sensual as it is spiritual, as exacting as it is ecstatic. The prose moves from the antiseptic brightness of department-store lighting to the low gold of firelight; from the quiet cruelty of "compose yourself" to the mercy of "let yourself be unguarded." Scenes of early conditioning ("Don't let them see you sweat"), the calculation of safety (columns for Body, Mind, Soul), and the last sleepless years set the stakes with surgical clarity.
In the wild, those structures meet earth: dirt under nails, salt on lips, the animal rising without apology. The book never confuses shock for depth; it honors the slow, cellular miracle of coming home to one's body. Into the Wild of You is a love story-of men, of scent, of the un-performed self. It's for anyone who was taught to be spotless instead of whole, anyone who traded aliveness for approval, anyone who has ever sanitized touch until it was empty.
Read it if you've outgrown self-improvement and are ready for self-return. Read it if you've forgotten what you smell like. Above all, read it if the word surrender scares you the way truth does, because on the far side of surrender is not collapse but coherence: the stag inside you stepping forward, antlers bright, unafraid.
